


The Rivers

by BrokenWingsAflight



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Hestia Schools Her Little Brothers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Out of Character, Parent-Child Relationship, Surprise Appearance: Nereid Edition, The Relationships Exist but Don't Matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenWingsAflight/pseuds/BrokenWingsAflight
Summary: The only thing Zeus is better at than cheating is screwing things up. And he just did ... big time.
Relationships: Chiron/Original Female Character(s), Hades/Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. Catonsville

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: Implied/reference child abuse.

This was far from nine-year-old Cassandra Whitlock's first rodeo. According to CPS officials, she showed up out of nowhere when she was about eight months old, and had spent the years since bouncing from foster home to foster home. Strange things seemed to happen wherever she went: Two years ago, a foster family fell pregnant within days after her arrival (and after years of fruitless effort); three years ago, a foster sibling with leukemia succumbed to his illness with Cassandra by his side; and apparently, when she was extremely young, Cassandra had touched a bird thought to be dead that, moments later, flew away like it hadn’t just been lying on the sidewalk with a crushed wing.

There were more incidents than those, some positive and some negative. Cassandra never told her foster brother Hunter's parents that, hours before his death, he had told her he wanted to die. She felt as if she had allowed it to happen, and the guilt settled heavily on her chest.

This time around, the "issue," so to speak, that this family had sent her back for was that Cassandra was mixed, and they were white. Of course they never said that, but it was quite clear. She couldn't really say she minded, considering they hadn't necessarily been her favorite people. So she returned to the Children's Home of Catonsville nonplussed and tired, wanting only to go to bed for a long while.

Rebecca Cunningham watched sadly as a company vehicle pulled into the driveway of the home. Being Cassandra's social worker, she knew what was going on, but this was the third time it had happened in eighteen months, and she was running out of ideas. She waved at Cassandra through the window of her office, and the young girl halfheartedly waved back. A caseworker took the two black trash bags containing Cassandra's belongings out of the trunk and brought them inside behind her.

Cassandra stepped cautiously over the threshold of Rebecca's office just as the phone on her desk began ringing. Rebecca gestured to the armchairs against the opposite wall while she picked up the receiver.

"Children's Home of Catonsville, this is Rebecca. Actually, yes. No, we haven't reached out to anyone else yet. Uh … I suppose as early as tomorrow morning, nine a.m. You'd rather ten? Sure, yes, I can do that. Is it a two-parent household? Wait … a representative? May I ask what that means? Normally we would encourage—oh, all right, I see. As long as you bring forms and identification, I don't see why not. So, just to confirm, tomorrow at ten. All right. See you then. Have a nice day. Goodbye."

Altogether quite confused, Rebecca looked up at Cassandra, who sat with her hands between her thighs.

"I think you just made us a record, kid," said Rebecca.

"What?" Cassandra spoke so softly that the single word was almost inaudible.

Rebecca glanced at the clock to the bottom right of her monitor before replying. "You've been here what, ten minutes? And someone wants to pick you up tomorrow."

"Me?"

A lump rose in Rebecca's throat, a hard mass of worry, pity, and sympathy blocking her vocal cords until she swallowed. She'd known Cassandra for most of the girl's life, and at this point was almost tempted to adopt her herself. "Yep. You. There's a guy—"

Cassandra's shoulders slumped forward at the mention of a man. Rebecca recalled three homes Cassandra had come back from with bruises. In at least two, if not all three, of those cases, the male guardian had been the abuser. She spoke quickly to reassure her.

"He's not actually going to be the one fostering you, believe it or not. I'm reading the paperwork he sent me and it looks like the couple run a summer camp. You definitely won't have any shortage of kids to hang out with in the summers."

"That's cool."

"I certainly think so. Cassandra, did you sleep okay last night?"

She seemed taken aback by the question, too surprised to lie. "Not really."

"Go lie down for a little while, then. Most everyone's at church, so you'll have some good peace and quiet."

"Okay." Moving with the hesitation of someone ten times her age, Cassandra rose and left Rebecca's office, closing the door behind her.

Rebecca could only shake her head. She'd seen some of Cassandra's schoolwork; her writing was rich and detailed, but whatever power flowed through her pencil shied away from expressing itself in speech. When Cassandra was about six years old, Rebecca remembered, her foster mother had asked via e-mail, "She can talk, right?" _Yes_ , had been the answer, typed hastily out of a need to justify the poor girl. _She can speak and does well in school. Don't worry, she's just very timid._ And hadn't that been the truth.

* * *

Franklin Rujillo tried his best to hide his limp the next morning as he knocked on the social worker's office door. He resisted the urge to stare at the woman who opened it, fixing his eyes on the floor as a blush rose to his cheeks. "Hi, I'm Franklin. I called yesterday, and, uh … I'm here to meet Cassandra."

"Nice to meet you, Franklin. My name is Rebecca. Come on in."

He followed her inside and, by chance, sat in the same armchair Cassandra had occupied the day before. His heart raced as Rebecca skimmed the documents he'd scanned in and submitted online. They of course gave fake names for Chiron and Ephyra as well as fabricated birth dates, but beyond that, they were as close to true as they could be without arousing suspicion.

"May I ask why Mr. and Mrs. Brunner could not come in themselves today?"

"Well, uh, Mr. Brunner is paraplegic, so I don't generally ask him to leave the house much. On the off-season, Mrs. Brunner does a lot more to take care of him; I'm really only around in the summertime. So I told her she, uh, she could stay home."

"By the off-season, you mean in the winter, when their summer camp isn't in session?"

"Yes, ma'am, that's exactly what I mean."

However uncertainly the conversation began, Franklin managed in thirty minutes to convince Rebecca that he, Chiron, and Ephyra were fit to take care of Cassandra—and to allow him to take her from Maryland to New York. Another thirty minutes later, Cassandra came down the foyer stairs with her belongings (in a suitcase this time, received during a luggage donation drive).

Franklin was immediately reminded of Annabeth. Seven-year-old Annabeth had had a fire in her eyes, weak but still burning. Nine-year-old Cassandra's flame flickered, but showed no signs of extinguishing without a fight. "Hey, Cassandra," he said, extending his hand. "My name is Franklin. It's good to meet you."

She scrutinized his hand before shaking it lightly. "Nice to meet you." She paused before asking, "Where are we going?"

Truthfully, Franklin had expected her first question to be about his limp. That was usually what happened. When he was younger and scouted high schools (which Grover Underwood would be doing the next year, his purpose being to find Percy Jackson), an easy way to find the demigod he sought was to wait for the student who defended him against anyone who bullied him for his gait. It took him a moment to respond with, "Long Island, New York," rather than, "Oh, it's nothing."

"I used to live there, a long time ago," said Cassandra. Her response was too neutral for Franklin to tell how she felt, but he figured he'd find out eventually.

* * *

Her silence made him uneasy for most of the drive. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, she asked, "What are Mr. and Mrs. Brunner like?"

"They're super nice people. I've worked with them for a while now. You actually won't be the first kid they've adopted, if that's what ends up happening. And I bet it will, because you definitely seem like the kind of kid they'll like. They like everyone, though."

"How many other kids are there?"

"Two. Their names are Annabeth and Luke." Franklin took a deep breath, deciding now was the time to launch into the same spiel he performed for every demigod and demigoddess he brought to Camp Half-Blood. "Are you at all familiar with Greek mythology, Cassandra?"

"A little," she answered, bemused but clearly interested (if her tone was anything to go by).

"Do you know what satyrs are? Or centaurs?"

"Um … Satyrs are half-goat and centaurs are half-horse, right?"

"Yeah, pretty much. So, I know this is gonna sound super weird, but I'm a satyr, and Mr. Brunner is a centaur."

Like she had earlier, Cassandra surprised him. Rather than reacting in disbelief, she asked, "How does that work if he's par- … para- …" She trailed off, struggling with the word, but she'd gotten her point across.

"Well, it doesn't, because Mr. Brunner isn't actually paraplegic. It's just that most people see a wheelchair instead of a horse when they look at him. You're probably not one of those folks." He pulled off his beanie and fluffed his black curls with his fingers, something he could do safely, seeing as they were stuck in traffic. "You can see some horns there, can't you?"

"Yeah. They're cool."

"Uh … Thanks." He let out an awkward, quiet laugh, flustered by the unexpected compliment. "That's a really good thing, that you can see 'em; it means you can see through the Mist, so you definitely belong at Camp Half-Blood. The Mist lets ordinary people—so, not us—go about their daily lives not knowing a thing about what's going on. They don't know that I'm a satyr or that Mr. Brunner's—whose name is Chiron, by the way—wife is a Nereid, basically a water nymph. You'll like her. Her name is Ephyra and she's the nicest person I've ever met."

"Chiron …" She ruminated for a moment after whispering the name, like she recognized it. Franklin soon realized that she did.

"He was raised by Apollo, wasn't he? Which means … which means if they're real, and you're real, then so are all the others? Like Zeus?"

"I mean … I was gonna tell you that, but you sort of said it yourself." He tried not to betray the fact that her quick thinking impressed him, as well as his worry that she was dangerously quick to trust.

"You said ordinary people can't see through the Mist," she said tentatively. "So … what am I?"

"That's a great question. What you probably are is a demigoddess. One of the gods fell in love with a human and had a kid with them, for better or worse. The bad part is that, a few years ago, Zeus decided that the gods couldn't take any part in raising their kids. Because of that, you'll most likely live at the camp year-round."

The sorrow in Cassandra's next words would have driven Franklin to tears if he hadn't been so keenly focused on the road ahead of him, squinting through rain. "I'm just … I'm just going from one orphanage to another?"

Damn. Out of all the things he'd done in his life, taking an orphaned child to Camp Half-Blood was not one of them. "I hope it doesn't end up feeling that way," he managed. "Chiron and Ephyra will be more than happy to take care of you, just like they take care of Annabeth and Luke. I know they feel like they're a family."

"Will my mom—or dad, or whoever it is—even want to meet me?"

"They always do. The camp is one of the safest places for them to visit, so you'll probably see them fairly often." Franklin didn't tell her that he had no idea who her parent might be. It concerned him that he didn't know; he could usually tell not long after meeting them.

The conversation died for the rest of the ride, aside from Franklin asking Cassandra if she needed a restroom. A few hours later, as the sun had almost set, he turned down a dirt road. They drove another mile or so before he parked the car in the grass. "Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. Well, the outside of it, at least. You ready?"

"I guess so."

In short order, Franklin retrieved her bag from the trunk, and they passed through the gate without incident. Cassandra didn't say a word until they reached the Big House, where Chiron waited on the porch, and the word she did say was surprisingly mundane. "Hi."

"Hello, Cassandra," Chiron replied, a warm smile on his face. "Thank you for getting her here safely, Franklin. Go stretch out your legs."

Franklin gratefully accepted the offer, leaving Cassandra and Chiron standing in the crisp night air. "Come in. Make yourself comfortable," said Chiron.

As they entered the house, a woman walked into the foyer from one of the hallways. She was short and slim, with pale skin, hair, and eyes. As she spoke to Chiron in elegant sign language, light shone through the webbing between her fingers. Cassandra couldn’t help but stare.

“Yes, this is the one,” Chiron replied. Turning to Cassandra, he clarified, “This is Ephyra, my partner. She’s a Nereid, one of the fifty daughters of Nereus. Nereids’ vocal cords work differently than yours or mine, so speaking is difficult, but she can hear.”

“Why are your fingers webbed?” asked Cassandra, still entranced by Ephyra’s appearance. She seemed as if made of sea glass, from a palette of soft blues and greens, except for her lips. Those were strikingly red.

Ephyra looked to Chiron, giving him permission to answer.

“Her natural environment is water. Webbing makes it easier to swim.”

The Nereid nodded, satisfied. She then launched into a frenzy of signing, to which Chiron said, “Not so fast! You’re making me dizzy.”

Her smile widened and her eyes glinted with mischief, but she slowed down. As Chiron mulled over her words, she winked at Cassandra, who blushed sheepishly for no good reason.

“Are you quite sure?” Chiron’s voice broke the momentary silence like a thunderclap, despite not being all that loud. “All right.” He settled into his wheelchair and motioned toward the leather sofas around the fireplace. “Have a seat, Cassandra. Close to the fountain, please.”

“The fountain?”

“Oh.” Chiron wheeled himself to the low table in front of the sofas and gestured toward a cluster of rocks on its top. He pressed a switch and water began to burble down the stones into a pool at the bottom. “I suppose ‘fountain’ might be a generous description,” he amended.

The tiny fountain produced the barest hint of mist once the water’s momentum increased. Chiron drew a drachma from a coin purse and placed it in the pool at the fountain’s base. “Iris, goddess of the rainbow, please accept my offering,” he said quietly.

A flickering image materialized behind the fountain, revealing the form of the goddess of the rainbow. Iris bowed her head and deftly plucked the drachma from the pool. “My thanks. Who is it you wish to contact?”

“Give that back, Iris,” Chiron said chidingly.

She laughed and tossed the coin back to him. The sound rang like a chorus of bells. “Well?” she asked, one eyebrow arched.

“Hades, if you would.”

“Oh, lovely. I’m not sticking around for this.”

“Nor should you.”

Iris disappeared, and Chiron turned to Cassandra, who sat with her knees tucked to her chest, looking frightened. “Iris was exaggerating,” he assured her. “Hades rules the Underworld, but he isn’t one to fear—especially not if you’re who we think you are. He doesn’t get along much with the other gods, which I don’t blame him for.”

Before he could say anything else, the flickering screen of mist rematerialized. This time, it revealed a man sitting imperiously on a throne, his legs crossed at the knee and his hands folded in his lap. His eyes burned blue as Arctic ice, a stark contrast to his olive complexion and black hair.

Cassandra sat frozen in place, her eyes locked on Hades. She didn’t blink when the image suddenly dissolved, for it was replaced by Hades himself. “I wondered if you would still have my eyes,” he murmured, kneeling before her. “I will admit that yours are much lovelier.”

As he said so, she began to cry, covering her face with her hands. Hades leaned forward and whispered in her ear, and whatever he said made her reach for him. He took her into his arms as if she were an infant—as she had been the last time he had seen her. She sobbed quietly into his shoulder, her arms slung around his neck.

“You’ve done me a service, Chiron,” said Hades. “How in the world did you find her?”

“Is this—”

“Ranthe. Yes. And for some inexplicable reason, she remembers me. Now, was it you or was it a satyr?”

“Both.”

“Then please, tell the satyr he has my thanks.” He paused, then added, “I can’t tell whether Zeus is getting sloppy or let this happen intentionally.”

“Always a good question,” said Chiron. “I’m inclined to think the former, though, what with the current climate. Still—this is really her? I thought she might be, but …”

“You did indeed manage to find my only child, yes. It isn’t like I scoured the planet for her or anything.” (Let it be known that he had.) His smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “I need to take her to Olympus immediately. Is there anything you would like me to tell your father while I’m there?”

“Just pass on the default greeting. I only ask that you let me know what he says if you return for her belongings.”

“You say that as if I know what the ‘default greeting’ is,” Hades replied, getting to his feet. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with it.”

“No need. He knows what it means.”

“Very well.”

Then Hades was gone, and Cassandra— _Ranthe,_ Chiron corrected himself—with him.


	2. Olympus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hades drives some hard bargains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to finish this months ago ... Apologies.

No one stood in their way as Hades entered Olympus. The first person he encountered was Demeter, whose eyes widened as she realized what was going on. “Where is Apollo?” he asked, and it took Demeter a few seconds to reply. “In his chamber, I believe,” she said. “How—” 

“I’ll answer that question later,” he interrupted. “Don’t say a word to my wife. I don’t know what’s going to happen.” 

Demeter nodded sagely, and Hades forged on. He’d put Ranthe to sleep before leaving the camp, and planned to keep her that way until the situation was more stable. In an empty hallway, he paused and kissed the top of her head. It was hard even for him to believe that the child Zeus had taken from him years ago was once again in his arms, but her breathing reassured him that this was reality. 

Persephone, he'd decided, didn’t need to know for now. The loss of their only child together had wounded them both, but Persephone still suffered profoundly. If what Hades hoped would work ended up failing, he knew it would break her even if she didn’t know there had been a chance. 

Hades shifted his grip to knock on Apollo’s door. The healer answered looking rather sleepy, but any fatigue he was experiencing receded as he realized what was going on. “Give her to me,” he said shortly. “Lay her on the bed.” 

Apollo examined Ranthe with a critical eye. Once he had finished looking, he raised a hand and a syringe appeared in it. With no further fanfare, he pricked Ranthe’s finger and drew crimson blood. Cursing under his breath, he removed the needle. “Go confront the big man. I’ll need a while,” he concluded. 

“Take your time.” Hades turned to leave, stopping at the threshold to say, “Chiron asked me to extend his ‘default greeting,’ whatever that may mean.” 

“In return, I offer the default courtesy,” Apollo replied drily. “Don’t say that. Tell him … Oh, I don’t know. I’ll think of something when I’m less busy.” 

“Which I assume will be never.” 

“Didn’t I say you should go talk to Zeus?” 

Hades didn’t respond; he was already gone. Apollo looked over his shoulder, rolled his eyes, and commanded the door to close. “Would it have killed you to do that yourself?” he muttered. 

\----

“Let’s talk for a moment, shall we?” 

“Hmm? Oh, hello, brother.” Zeus looked up from a scroll of some sort. “What did I do this time?” 

“You told us you’d given Ranthe to a family,” Hades snapped, striding up to the table Zeus was seated at until his shadow loomed over him. 

“And how do you know I didn’t?” Zeus clearly thought he’d just gotten Hades, as he smiled triumphantly. “You knew the rules.” 

“The rules,” seethed Hades, “did not apply to my child, and you know that.” 

“It was fair.” 

“Fairness would have been giving up your own, but I don’t see that happening, do I? No, I don’t.” Hades snatched Zeus’ scroll from his hands and tossed it to the floor. “Look at me as I say this.” 

Cowed for perhaps the first time in his life, Zeus met Hades’ eyes. 

“It would have been better for Ranthe had you killed her. Instead you forced her into a life of abuse. Did I believe that you had put her in a kind home? Of course not, but I would have searched the Earth pole to pole either way. You reduced my child to a shell of herself. She will never recover. Neither will Persephone, nor I. Are you pleased with what you’ve done? Are you proud?” 

Inflamed with anger, Zeus stood, but Hades was taller—and had wrapped his hand around Zeus’ throat. “Several things have to happen before I let go. First, you must swear on our mother’s soul that you will replace Ranthe’s blood with ichor, as it should always have been. 

“Second, you must swear on your own soul that you will lift your restrictions immediately. There was never harm done by anyone but you—and that brings me to my third condition. 

“You must swear on the souls of every child who shares your blood—including Athena, Artemis, and Apollo—that you will never again harm a child, physically or emotionally. 

“Is that clear?” 

“You … drive … hard … bargains,” Zeus managed against the pressure of Hades’ grip. 

“I really don’t,” said Hades, “but the more you complain about it, the tighter my hand will close around your throat.” 

“Do as he says, Zeus.” 

Neither of them had to turn to see who the rich voice belonged to. Hestia approached with authoritative, sure-footed steps. “Sit,” she said to Zeus, and he was forced down onto the bench behind him. Her command ripped his throat out of Hades’ hand, at least for the time being. 

To Hades, she whispered, “Hands behind your back,” and there was nothing he could do to resist. 

\----

Persephone awoke to find that Hades was nowhere in sight. Considering he had just been asleep next to her, and that she was a famously light sleeper, this was unusual. Apprehension gripped her chest as she threw aside the blankets and got out of bed—this, too, was unusual. 

She padded out of their bedroom on silent feet, letting the cold flagstone floor shock her awake. It wasn’t long before she encountered a servant. “Where is Hades?” she asked him, her teeth clenched, and the young man cowered before her. 

“He … he answered a mist message, my Lady. I … I don’t know where he went … I’m sorry …” 

“Thank you.” With that, she walked away, leaving the servant quivering. That one was either new or had seen firsthand what she could do. He was wise to fear the bringer of destruction, but it hadn’t been necessary. 

The fountain in the palace courtyard was a stately monolith of black marble. A strong rainbow shone in the curtain of mist it produced as the water crashed into the fountain’s base. It was into this that Persephone tossed a drachma. 

“Good afternoon, Persephone,” said Iris, far more demure than she had been when talking to Chiron earlier. “What may I help you with?” 

“One of my servants said that my husband answered a mist message. Where did it take him?” 

Iris quailed beneath Persephone’s unwavering gaze. “He’s in Olympus, but I wouldn’t recommend trying to join him right now,” she replied, her eyes on the floor. “He and Zeus got into a fight, and Hestia is trying to break it up.” 

“What did he go to Olympus for? As far as I’m aware, a fight with his brother was not on the docket for today.” 

“I … I don’t know if I’m at liberty to say, because I don’t have all the information. It happened very quickly. Two hours ago, I put him in touch with Chiron—” 

“Chiron?” Persephone interrupted. “Why?” 

“That’s what I’m not sure of. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.” 

“It’s all right, Iris. You said enough.” Persephone inclined her head respectfully to the goddess of the rainbow and swept her hand through the mist. Once the image dissipated, she heaved a sigh and set off for Olympus. 

\----

The halls of Olympus were deathly quiet when Persephone arrived, but as she approached the council chamber, she began to hear hints of voices. Intent upon figuring out what exactly was going on, she nearly ran into Demeter as she rounded a corner. 

“What are you doing here?” Demeter inquired, looking more than a little surprised. 

“I’m looking for Hades. Iris told me he’s here.” 

Demeter looked around somewhat surreptitiously, then replied, her volume a hair above a whisper, “He is, but I don’t think you were supposed to find out. He asked me where he could find Apollo, so I told him—but now he’s in there arguing with Zeus and Hestia.” 

Persephone nodded, weighing her options.

“I gather Iris wasn’t supposed to tell me anything, either,” she mused.

Before Demeter could respond, Hestia slipped into the hallway. She held a vial of golden liquid in her calloused hand. “I knew you’d come,” she said to Persephone. “The gentlemen—” she tilted her head towards the council room “—are still at odds, but at least there have been no further murder attempts.”

“Further?” asked Persephone, arching an eyebrow.

“Were I in Hades’ place, I think I, too, would have felt the temptation. I would explain more, but my current task is a bit time-sensitive. You’re welcome to go ask him yourself.”

Persephone swallowed past a lump of dread as Hestia strode down the corridor. After a moment, she squared her shoulders and walked into the council chamber, where Zeus and Hades sat at the extreme ends of the room, bound to chairs with Hestia’s golden chains.

The expression on Hades’ face told her that he would rather be just about anywhere else. “I’m sorry,” he began; immediately, his voice cracked, and his eyes welled with tears. “It all happened so quickly—”

“What happened, exactly?” Persephone pinched one of the chain-links, and the whole assembly fell to the floor and dissipated.

Her husband mustered a grateful smile, though he didn’t make eye contact. “A miracle occurred today,” he said. Noticing a drop of ichor on his fingertip, he sucked the bead off the now-closed skin.

“Why does Hestia have a vial of your ichor?” asked Persephone, having connected the dots.

Hades stood before responding, this time meeting her eyes. “Chiron found our daughter,” he whispered, awe and disbelief plainly evident in his voice. “But she needs ichor. She has none of her own anymore.”

Persephone’s shocked silence spoke volumes. She moved only when Hades guided her with his hand on her back, saying, “Apollo is taking care of her. Let’s go see if he needs help.”

\---

Hestia had come and gone by the time Hades and Persephone arrived. Apollo had lit incense, and the entire space smelled of sandalwood and lavender.

“Start from the beginning,” said Persephone, looking at Hades. With a nod of permission from Apollo, she had seated herself on the edge of the bed and was absently fiddling with Ranthe’s curls. As Hades explained, Persephone began plucking flowers out of thin air and incorporating them into Ranthe’s hair, creating a crown of flowers on her head. Their soft scents mixed seamlessly with the fragrances already diffusing throughout the room.

Apollo drew Hades’ ichor from the vial into a syringe. “Put this in her hand,” he said, handing Persephone a ball, “and close her fingers around it.” Persephone did as he directed, and the god of healing injected the ichor into a pronounced vein on the inside of Ranthe’s elbow.

The transfusion worked wonders. The three gods watched, transfixed, as Ranthe’s eyes fluttered open. Her irises shone swirling, mercurial gold.

“So much for having my eyes,” whispered Hades when it was clear the gold was there to stay. But as she sat up, Ranthe’s eyes—and ears—were on her mother, whose braids had begun sprouting flowers of their own accord.

“How are you still yourself with all of that … floral influence?” asked Apollo.

Hades shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen that kind of spontaneous generation from her in a while.” Watching his wife and daughter hold each other for dear life reminded him of a question he’d meant to ask. “Did you figure out what you want me to tell Chiron?”

“I’ll take care of it myself. You have other things to do.”

“That I do.”

Ranthe spoke suddenly, her voice clear and authoritative. “I want to talk to Zeus,” she said.

“Are you quite sure?” asked Hades, his skin crawling at the notion. The protective part of his nature wanted her as far away from Zeus as possible.

She nodded without hesitation. “He needs to know what he did.”

\---

At her insistence, Hades and Persephone allowed Ranthe to go on her own. She strode into the council chamber with authority and confidence she had never known before. Power surged through her veins, flooding her extremities with energy. The air around her wavered and sang, humming with the intensity of the Underworld’s rushing waters.

Hades swore that Zeus trembled beneath Ranthe’s gaze. Whether he did or not, he refused to meet her eyes.

“My waters wait for you,” she told him, her tone malevolent, roiling like the hateful current of the Styx.

“They will not allow you to forget.”

The Lethe shrank back from its banks, miles below.

“In their currents you shall remain. There will be no escape for you.”

Beneath her feet, the Acheron twisted and turned in a thousand whirlpools.

“Water and fire will clamor to deal you punishing blows,” she continued, calling upon the Phlegethon, the river of fire, “and only the walls will hear your wails.”

Her last words invoked the Cocytus, frequently forgotten.

The goddess of the rivers had spoken.

Zeus wept.


End file.
